


love songs for robots

by beware_phangirl (dantiloquent)



Series: One Shots [11]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Acephobia, Alcohol Mentions, Alternate Universe, Angst, Aromantic, Aromantic!Phil, Asexual!Phil, Asexuality, Comfort, Fluff, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dantiloquent/pseuds/beware_phangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>phil is asexual and aromantic, and dan doesn't know what exactly that means at first, but he learns, and it's okay, they're okay, <em>of course they're okay</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	love songs for robots

**Author's Note:**

> read on tumblr [here](http://pianoboyhowell.co.vu/post/125101148741/love-songs-for-robots) to see all notes and thanks and disclaimers etc!!  
> warnings for slight acephobia and alcohol mentions

**i.**

“It means I don’t get attracted to anyone,” Phil says, steps around another puddle, and stops trailing his fingers over the moss on the wall. The rain has stopped, just about, and the sky is overcast and paved with a mottled grey. The yellow of the aging bushes and of the flowers with tiny petals that swing from the tree to his right stick out. There’s one dash of purple, a dark lavender just short of blue from a tall flower behind a garden wall, with fanned petals that collapse towards the stem. It’s not cold and it’s not hot: it’s unnoticeable and unimportant. 

Dan steps away from the edge of the pavement and watches the spray of rain when Phil accidentally brushes against a bush. 

“Okay.”

They’re walking home from school, taking the side roads which no one takes but they always do. Dan’s head was still on Geography when Phil started talking.

 _“Dan, I just need to say -”_ he had said, and then stopped. Dan knew to say nothing - it had happened often enough, and it was only a matter of time and silence until Phil would continue - and to listen to the skitter of the stone he had just kicked. Geography was out of his head by then - it still is. 

“Or fall in love,” Phil adds, biting his lip and tugging at the strap of his school bag - the one which is falling apart at the seams and Dan removed his approval from months back.

“Okay,” Dan repeats, steady, patient. It’s common for them to just agree when the other speaks; contrary to many, it doesn’t mean they’re ignoring them. It just means they have nothing better to add. 

In the summer, they played at childhood again in the sun-dappled end of evening, commandeering the then-abandoned play park and sending laughs and yells up into the branches of the trees. It had been a long time since he had even visited that place, but there was the same dent at the bottom of the steps and the fireman’s pole was painted the same shade of red, so the years meant little to him. 

Dan was on a swing, kicking his legs and laughing as the road outside flitted in and out of view. He decided to jump from the highest point. Not his finest idea - and that showed as he proceeded to land askew in the sand, ankle twisted and face fighting a grimace. Phil had checked he was alright before laughing, Dan joining in. He stayed at Dan’s side, knees dug into the earth, until he was good to get up - said he was happy to stay until nightfall, if needed, which Dan didn’t doubt, considering Phil’s obsession with the night sky and the sunset. But, he was grateful for the sentiment all the same.

 _“I’m a twat, I’ll admit,”_ he confessed, and let out a short laugh again like his leg wasn’t tucked at an awkward angle under the other and he didn’t have sand in his hair.

 _“Okay,_ ” Phil had agreed.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter, right, and it doesn’t change anything and -” Phil stumbles over the words as badly as Dan had stumbled when he stood on his twisted ankle. Phil had dutifully acted as a human crutch - didn’t even give it a second thought.

“Why would it?” Dan intercepts. 

Phil’s words are wriggling across his skin, cursive and in grey ink, with the unneeded questions attached. Dan has never heard of this before, not properly, but it doesn’t matter, of course it doesn’t.

“I -” Phil stops himself and returns his gaze to the puddles at his feet: water on asphalt in the middle of May. Dan nudges him on the shoe with his toe, and thus prompts him to look up so he can smile at him. It elicits one from Phil’s own chewed lips - aslant and concerned, but a weak smile is better than no smile at all. 

-

Dan looks it up. He’s meant to be revising, and he has done some, honest, and when he turns on his laptop and sits back against the wall it’s only with the goal of helping Phil. A fair enough excuse, surely. And so, grabbing a glass of water and an apple, he heads upstairs and shuts himself in his room.

He looks up the terms Phil had used earlier that he had never heard before: asexual and aromantic. He has to do this properly. Phil deserves that much. 

A number of results come up, websites and Tumblr blogs and chat forums; he opens up several of the promising ones in new tabs and begins his odyssey. 

He is told that they can still love, in a platonic or familial way. Asexuals can still have partners - they are not broken and they are not robots. Sexual attraction and romantic attraction are different, and that makes complete sense now he’s thought about it, but though he can understand sexual attraction, he can’t get the exact idea of what romantic attraction _is. Is that just the desire, or not, to be in a relationship, or more, and how much does this cover? As far as he knows, love is care, and isn’t about the dates, isn’t about the culture side. He’s unsure, though, and a quick google search - _can aromantics fall in love_ \- doesn’t offer much in terms of clarity. Soon enough, though, he finds a definition that answers everything: _Aromantics are people who do not experience the feeling of romance. Romance is a natural high that occurs in the presence of certain people, without obvious connection to sexuality, ‘good company’, or emotional intimacy._ Okay, then._

One post and blog leads to another. Resource posts and key words and FAQs for friends and family. A whole community hidden. He learns about relationships and he learns about _aesthetic attraction_ and _sensual attraction_ and those make sense - he has experienced those even if he’s not asexual or aromantic. He figures that’s the point: they are human experiences, it’s just that for asexuals and aromantics it’s an _only this, and this at most,_ while for most people it’s a _this at the least_. The term ‘squishes’ crops up: the platonic version of a crush, an intense desire to know and be close to someone. It makes him smile a little. 

The difference between romantic and sexual attraction is reiterated again and again, and they are fluid and they are definitely not the most important type of attachment. Amatonormativity is the social force that treats romantic relationships as intrinsically superior than friendships and non-romantic relationships, and it sums up the modern world entirely. It explains his doubts about whether aromantics fall in love or not: it was this that made it hard to take in the fact that _no, they don’t, and hey, that’s okay_.

There’s a whole spectrum that he finds himself looking into, and they make _sense_. Not that they need to, but it makes him wonder why people don’t accept them. 

Because people ,em>don’t is the issue. The idea is, in most places, completely shunned and disgraced. He learns about the lack of representation and the blatant dismissal from important public figures, and he finds himself getting riled up about it. There’s stereotypes - _we are not robots we are not broken_ \- that he can actually recall witnessing in the media. In fact, there is little understanding or acceptance of the asexual and aromantic community and - _oh, Phil._

Aromantic and asexual people still love and they can still feel arousal and they can enjoy life. Friends, platonic relationships that last long into middle age: they are all enough.

Despite his best efforts and hours of research, Dan still doesn’t have a full grasp of romantic and sexual attraction. He can recall the definitions and he understands them completely, but he can’t identify with it because he does know these attractions, and can’t get his head around the idea of him not knowing it. It’s odd, and he hates himself for the _how can you not?_ which surfaces. Though, that must be how it is for those who understand him and his feelings but can’t feel them - like Phil. A _how can you?_ to counter it.

He learns the term _queerplatonic relationship_ and it’s okay, all of it is okay. Of course it is.

It must be midnight by the time he thinks he could be done. His school books are still strewn across his desk, only three paces away, and his water has long since run out. Dan partly recalls his mum calling a _goodnight_ at some point, but he honestly can’t remember. Blinking away neon static and lethargy, he shuffles on the mattress and stretches. There’s a sense of accomplishment, saccharine in his chest, and it feels good.

-

It’s all a bit of a mess, really. 

A confounded, introspective mess. 

He doesn’t feel anything about it - but he does. It’s just a thing, a thing which is more an idea than a thought, and it’s not even his. In spite of that, he continues to turn the ideas over and over in his head, before confronting his own sexuality. The discoveries he has just made have completely changed his ideas about attraction. 

_But, no one falls in love straight away, it’s all sexual attraction first off, right, so how does demiromantic differ? No, because it’s still pretty instant, more so than when you’re demiromantic, and anyway, romantic attraction is the dates and those are what amount to love, and they’re pretty instant, anyway, I’m sure._

He’s cared for his past girlfriends, and he only thought the attraction was vestigial compared to what other people experience because he’s still young. Now he’s wondering if it ever was attraction, if it was a bit of a mistake on his part - and, if so, where does that little bubble of affection come into play? 

People say that you know you’ve found the right label when something slots into place, when you find yourself smiling, when the knot in your stomach unties like the strawberry laces Dan used to buy from the corner shop. That hasn’t happened yet.

Dan turns over and scrunches his eyes shut.

-

Sometimes, the twisted ankle can still be felt when he walks oddly.

-

Before school the next day, he pays a short trip to the counsellor’s office. Not inside it, just to the table of leaflets propped outside in the corridor. Quickly enough, he finds what he’s looking for: a leaflet on sexual identity. A quick flick through proves that it holds no information on asexuality - on reflection, that is not really a surprise - but instead of replacing it, he finds himself stuffing it into the recesses of his bag. He’s never really looked into all of this, but maybe now is the time. 

Maybe.

The sound of chatter through the glass doors at the end of the corridor accrues each second. With a final cursory glance over the selection, Dan turns his back and begins his way back up towards the main school grounds. His feet kick at a discarded, wrapped sweet; the sudden noise shocks him, makes him flinch like he’s been slapped. There is no one around, but he hastens down the remainder of the passage. 

-

Phil has his nails dug into the pedicels of two dandelions and his eyes focused on the smouldering shadows of the passageway across the street. The deep slats of the bench provide little comfort for Dan’s thighs. The sun is just starting to bleed onto the pair, soaking through a gap between the buildings from its low vantage point. 

“You looked it up, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

The flowers come from a meagre patch of dandelions, hidden in the long grass that laces the edge of the road. 

“You can’t really understand it, can you?”

He is honest.

“No. It makes sense - and it’s completely fine, we’re fine. I just can’t understand something which isn’t me.”

Phil’s fingers pause at the petals and it looks like he is about to tear them off, mingle the yellow with the ink already on his fingers, but he lets them drop to the bench beside him.

“I know. That’s how I feel about you lot.”

Dan quirks his eyebrow. “Us lot?”

Phil grins, a knowing contour that tugs at the edge of his mouth, and he looks up at last; the falling sun drowns his eyes.

“That’s how it is, right? You’re the humans, I’m the robot.”

Dan opens his mouth and closes it, twice. “Don’t be dumb,” he finds himself saying.

 

Minutes crawl by and the unravelling thread at the cusp of Dan’s shirt grows longer.

“Mum says I’m kinda lucky. I won’t have to deal with some of the things others do; she means, like, homophobia or dating.”

“Yeah,” Dan hums, and it lands flat and evanesces too quickly, as unconvinced as he feels.

The look Phil gives Dan from the corner of his eye - a fleeting, flicker of a glance, thoughts still working behind the lenses - shows that he feels the same.

“She didn’t mean for it to be mean,” and the _but_ dangles in the air as an esoteric catch, the prickling silence that speaks it is like the tremor from a bullet or a discordant piano note. The gap that follows where Dan should be replying augments it.

“No,” Dan finally speaks, “I’m sure she didn’t.”

-

**ii.**

“It gets really lonely, you know.”

The old wood is back under them again but time has passed in thirds and fifths and minor falls. A breeze twines around their ankles and gradually sweeps away the sunlight; the streetlamp has already come on, battling through the branches and against the expanse of dimming ether. Scattered on the asphalt, the prints of it look similar to dandelion petals.

Dan knows not to interrupt.

“I know it’s not bad, and I’m fine with it most of the time - this is who I am. But it does get really lonely, which is understandable when you think about it, because - you know - I’m missing out on it all. But still. Maybe it’s because everywhere I go I’m told to fall in love, maybe because it’s human nature. I don’t know.”

Dan thinks of the phrase _queerplatonic_ again, and then he leans his head on Phil’s shoulder because there’s nothing more he can do. Just like everything else, what he is saying makes sense: aromanticism, asexuality, they’re not _wrong_ , but there is still a lack of something, of one part of life that is repeated in broken mirrors all around them. 

“In a way, I really am a robot.”

Dan thinks _no you’re not_ because he can feel Phil’s warmth pressed against his side and it is far from metallic and glacial; because he can see the flush of Phil’s cheeks and it is hemic, alive; because he can see the agitated wringing of his fingers and it is not mechanical; because he is thinking of that time in the sand with the twisted ankle and he is certain, he _knows_ , that no robot could showcase what Phil did. No robot could have dropped to the ground beside Dan that quickly, could have detected pain and replaced a laugh with a grimace after one look at Dan’s distressed expression. No robot could have slung Dan’s arm around his shoulder and stood up tall, no robot could’ve known what to say and where to hold him to lessen the hurt.

Knowing that and knowing that he is most certainly _Not_ , he also knows that there is nothing he can say to make it go away and guarantee its permanent omission. 

“Even if you are,” Dan begins, glancing up from Phil’s shoulder, “you are still important. Even if you are, I still love you.”

Phil’s eyes turn downcast - or maybe it’s pensive, but it is impossible to tell - and he mutters, “Love you, too.”

Dan butts his head gently against the crook of Phil’s shoulder. “Then you’re not a robot.”

Phil’s eyes become glazed over and shiny, he grips Dan’s hand for a second, and Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t get your wires in a twist.” 

Phil finds a rosebud smile while Dan’s own falters, and Dan says, “Sorry.”

Phil shakes his head, widens his smile as proof. Dan’s head returns to Phil’s shoulder. Breathing in the scent of callow vespertine and washing powder, he shuts his eyes. “Robots are rad as fuck, anyway.”

Phil laughs and it sounds a bit like he’s crying.

-

**iii.**

“Phil’s not here with you, is he?” his mother asks, opening his door and leaning against the frame, the phone pressed to her chest, just below her shoulder. 

Dan glances up from his laptop. “You would know if he were,” he remarks.

“Do you know where he is?” 

Dan shakes his head. “He said something about going into the city with a friend, but that was only meant to be quick. Why?”

She frowns and brushes away a stray hair from her face. “He’s not home yet. It was possible he told you something after school, mentioned any other plans.”

Dan shakes his head again, though it feels unnecessary.

“Don’t worry then, love.” She offers a small smile before leaving, pulling the door closed behind her. The faintest sounds of her voice, now talking into the phone, travel down the landing and through his door.

Dan glances at the clock: eight. Phil should definitely be home by now. Another askance look at his window proves that the sun has not yet sunk; the soft sunlight coupled with the balmy temperature provides an easy environment to spend hours outside in. 

Dan shuts the lid of his laptop and is out of his door in seconds, grabbing a jacket as he goes.

“I’m going out,” he announces, and the door cuts off any reply there might have been.

-

It is not a wild guess for Dan to head for the bench, nor is it a surprise when it is occupied with Phil’s curled frame. Dan’s feet thump up at the gradual slope and when he catches a sight of him, they quicken even further. 

Tears, hunched shoulders, hands smothering face, curled like the seashells his younger self would pick off the beach; sea water dripping off their carbonate layers, with porcelain fronts that crack easily - and so, the spiral is destroyed. Phil’s not moving, nor is he making much noise - the stage where sound wells deep from within you has passed, interchanging with the numb silence that breaks if the right thought comes to mind, just as a storming wave breaks against a cliff face - but his fingers are clawing at his brow and the slippery path of tears shines in the light. 

Dan, fairly sure Phil hasn’t yet seen him, stays glued to the spot.

“Everything sucks, Dan,” he speaks, surprisingly strong and steady. He pulls one hand away from his face and wipes at his eyes in an exasperated fashion, “What do I do?”

And so Dan chokes down an _I don’t know_ and sits down, and he listens, thigh pressed to Phil’s and spine turned to the streetlight.

The friend asked Phil out, he tells Dan, and he said, “no” - _of course I did, I couldn’t_ \- and they left, clearly hurt, and Phil couldn’t even explain why, just had to watch a close friend trail away. And now they’re hurt and he’s hurt and _everything sucks, Dan, this is so fucked up._ The tale dries up with a tearful cough to clear his throat as he buries his head back into his clenching hands.

“It’s okay to say no. You can’t just say yes to something you don’t want to do, that’s not fair on you. Everyone gets rejected sometimes and it hurts, but they get over it.”

“Yeah, but everyone else will say yes to someone. I will never -” he breaks himself off, the tears coming back as a sword strike. A noise of sympathy mewls in the back of Dan’s throat as he wraps his arm around Phil - shaking, now, and though it is ever so slightly, a little is more than not at all - and pulls him gently towards him. Phil completes the gesture, leaning on Dan’s side. “I’m sorry, I’m so so so so sorry.”

Dan whispers, “You don’t need to apologise for this. You don’t see allos like this when they say no, do you?”

“Everyone does apologise, though.”

It’s started to drizzle through the oncoming darkness, shadows and humidity alike shivering over them. In front of them, across the road, is a house with one floor and walls of uneven stone and mortar that is starting to crumble. Dan is not sure what it is for or who it belongs to, but to the left of it is a drive that burrows into trees, and to the right is a passageway. The passageway makes a perpendicular turn and it is the way they used to take to junior school - and fuck, have they changed since. Dan looks up and spots a cat walking away from them, tail flicking side to side - the only thing completely intact in his line of sight. 

“Well, yeah, but they don’t tear themselves up over it. They know it’s not their fault who they’re attracted to, and you’re just the same.”

“No, this is my fault. Because what kind of person doesn’t love anyone at all?”

There are many things that he could say right now. And, he’s never been good at finding the right words; either he would have nothing, or too many ideas and no idea which was the most promising choice. He’s never had to comfort anyone, either, really. If it ever happened, a hug was sufficient; he’s never had to find something that can comfort something this serious. His hand is cupped on Phil’s arm, thumb occasionally smoothing up and down, and neither of them know what to do.

“Then why do you care at all?”

Phil blinks hard, brow creasing. “What?”

“If you do not love, then why do you care that you’ve hurt their feelings?”

“Because -”

“Because you do care, Phil. Christ, you care a lot - too much.”

“Not enough,” Phil corrects. Then, with the look of someone who has thought too long and hard about something to the point that it has cracked them, ponders, “What if I’ve lost them?”

“What if you haven’t? They’re not going to let you go because of this, Phil, you’re too - they won’t, trust me.”

“But I don’t care enough, I -”

“You’re friends with me, right?”

Phil nods dubiously. 

A grin splits Dan’s lips. “That takes a fuck-ton of love, to stick with me this long.”

Phil’s laugh sounds a bit like a struck match - harsh, stagnated - but the sea shell unfurls, and they balance haphazard smiles on their faces to see how long they can keep them there.

“Romance isn’t the only type of love, and it definitely isn’t the most important.”

Phil hums in contemplation, hands steadying and uncoiling on his lap.

(Loose laughter is better than none at all.)

-

**iv.**

“I’m gay. Or something along those lines - just not what I thought I was before,” Dan informs Phil, and it’s stammered and it is traced with a _something_ but it is, quite possibly, one of the most certain things he’s ever said.

Dan has never been the most introspective person. Any attempt at figuring out himself would start several days of it festering as he scrambled for an answer. The problem would only leave if he solved it or forgot about it; mostly, neither happened. So, yes, Dan tries to avoid that as much as possible. But he is fairly certain that this is not what happened in terms of his sexuality.

He hadn’t paid it much thought because he was sure he did not need to reconsider. The past girlfriends were ample proof. And it wasn’t that the idea of being gay was never exposed to him: of course it was, but due to his focused mind, he had never needed to take it into account. Something changed, clicked - he is not sure what - and it only took him to compare his feelings with each other and have the bravery - _is that what it is? Was his certainty cowardice?_ \- to rethink everything, to listen to a feeling he had never knew existed, that caused everything to scramble about in his head into a new form. When he had come to the conclusion, he had realised that while he had been positive that he preferred girls, he had just failed to recognise that, actually, he liked boys more. Now that it is out in the open, it’s stupidly obvious.

“Okay.” Phil turns from the bookshelf he is currently scouring and smiles supportively, next pausing and letting himself drop back, “You know I can’t, like, I don’t -”

“I know,” Dan assures and rolls his eyes. “I’m not gay for you, it’s fine.”

Phil visibly relaxes. “But who _isn’t_ irrevocably in love with me, to be honest.” 

Dan nods, “To be honest.”

And, suddenly, it’s funny and they’re laughing until their jaws ache.

_I am not a robot -_

Revelation or not, there are no secret, hidden-from-self crushes, so nothing changes in that respect. Which is a relief, really, because life is scary enough as it is.

-

It’s scary because soon they are finishing school, and because the future is strung out and uncertain, but there is now one thing sorted out. Dan is afraid of the dark and crowds and cimmerian trees but now he is not scared about this, and that is more important.

-

 **v.**

Connections and friendships are maintained during university, strengthened over glasses of ribena in their old bedrooms during the holidays, and it cannot be that much of a surprise when they move in together.

Their apartment has one long, grey sofa with creased cushions, an array of random ornaments and soft toys that Phil demands they are not allowed to get rid of, a glass kitchen door which does not pose as a friend to their skulls at three AM, and a rather infuriating habit of switching the heating off at six in the morning ( _I don’t care if houses aren’t sentient, Phil, there is no other explanation_ ). It doesn’t have a boiler that works continuously, or a garden, or a set of friendly neighbours who look after each other’s apartments or offer anything in terms of food, but that is irrelevant. Their flat is _theirs;_ it has both of them in it, together, and there is nothing - no _one_ \- stopping them from eating cereal past midnight, glass door be damned.

Some days Dan and Phil will hardly speak at all, barely coming into contact before and after work - journalism and media respectively - and opting to stay in their rooms alone, reading or watching something. When that happens, no hard feelings are shared. Other times, their company is spent together; it is then that two out of the six dining chairs are put to use, the friends eating together and recounting tales of their day. They will bury themselves into the sofa and under blankets close together, leaning their heads on the others’ shoulders if needed, muttering snarky comments about whatever show is taking up their evening, their limbs weighed down by sleep.

It is not how either of them - or anyone - could imagine a future, but that does not mark it a failure. Sometimes, when yet another person asks after his life and, as if it is a deal everyone must adhere to, his lovelife in quick succession, Dan ponders over it and worries about it. What if this unpredictable way of life is such because it is astray?

 _All the best things are unpredicted,_ Phil says in answer to that, frown upturned like an umbrella pulled inside out, the rain and wind that do the upturning are squabbling in his irises as he puts down his wine-stained glass, _others’ perception of you means nothing in the end; after all, they’re not paying the bills._

They’re not getting to eat coco pops at two AM either, Dan grins in response, the kitchen surface digging into his waist, _so sucks to be them._

It is the thing of alcohol and raw throats and bleary eyes, but Dan does not forget it easily.

-

Early morning sunlight seeps out either side of the curtains, light and tentative as the dew that comes with it. It’s been perhaps five minutes since Dan woke up, five minutes of tossing and twisting, blinking away dreams and the film over his vision. There’s a pattern of footsteps - backward and forward, in and out - in the corridor outside his door, and Dan is about to open his mouth to yell when Phil gets there first.

“I’m out to the shops!”

Saturday coupled with eight in the morning means they must be out of coffee. 

Dan replies with a hurried “I need more milk!” and hopes that Phil heard before the door clicks shut.

Later, Dan slopes into the kitchen to find his milk on the table, alongside a bag of cookies - brown paper, folded over and sealed with a sticker. Dan smiles to the table before sweeping up the milk and swinging it into the fridge, and proceeding to pick up the bag on his way out. He brings them with him when he goes into the lounge where Phil has his gaze trained on his laptop screen, dropping down onto the couch beside him. Only a grin and a biscuit are passed between them, but that does not matter one bit.

-

**vi.**

Aidan has blonde curls and deep, indelible laugh lines with a fluting laugh to match; he has cold fingertips and an obsession for backstories and an easiness about everything that calms Dan down. When he’s focused his lips pout and his cheeks flush when Dan brings his hands to them and Dan is maybe a little smitten - maybe.

They work at the same newspaper agency, Dan in Film and Music and Aidan in editing. Their story is not what can be labelled riveting or original - it is predictable, maybe, but that is not a bad omen, not when Aidan traces adoration over Dan’s skin with his eyelashes and not when the obsession that forms romance and care coils in the pit of Dan’s stomach. Dan still has the coffee stain saturating his white shirt. 

It is not that Dan cares about Aidan more. It is not that Phil doesn’t laugh or that any of Dan’s friends are not beautiful and lovely in Dan’s eyes. It is a different form of care, but that does not make it any more vital or important. It is just that something makes Dan tingle and writhe. Maybe he looks too far into these things, but Dan becomes firm in the belief that if the ideas of asexuality and aromanticism do not make you question and redefine everything, you are not thinking about it enough. _Romantic love is not the most important, your lover is not the most important, other people are as important,_ and it may be verbatim in his skull but it is important verbatim: none of its value is lost through repetition. 

So he finds himself wondering what makes Aidan different, when others laugh and smile and have a love for something, but all he finds is that it’s the enthrallment gained atop the care they have for each other that defines it differently; he decides that, maybe, it is just who your body chooses - apparently there’s something to do with one’s subconscious, but he doesn’t really have a clue - and it’s a case of luck and chemicals. Doesn’t make it any less real, but still. He has to think through these things. 

So it stands that Phil is as important - but a concern soon forms, smarting on his conscious, that Phil is caught in the belief that he will lose Dan now that he has somewhere else to be, someone else to be with. Dan has the full capacity to find someone else and move away. Phil does not. Maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if they didn’t live together, but they do. And maybe it is not a well founded claim, maybe it is not true - but, see, it probably is.

-

“Do you think you will marry him?” Phil asks casually, one leg hooked under the other. The sky weighs navy beyond the window. 

Dan coughs in shock.

“What?”

“Aren’t you only meant to date someone if you can see yourself marrying them someday?” Phil says.

Dan doesn’t wonder after why Phil asks, he just seeks to answer it as best as possible. As with a lot of things, now that the issue is brought up, it is as much his puzzle as it is Phil’s.

“That is a thing, but it shouldn’t be one, to be honest. It’s fine to casually date, I think. And, in my opinion, you shouldn’t date someone based on if you will still love them, you date someone because you love them _now_ , right?”

“Right,” Phil says unsurely. 

“I mean, you don’t become friends someone with the aim of being friends forever. Did you think we’d still be friends?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Phil answers, “But I’m glad we are,” he adds afterwards, rushed. 

Dan smiles, “Same. So yeah: I don’t know, and I don’t really care.”

“Mmm,” Phil says, and his lips twist, more so in worry than doubt. 

(Dan doesn’t want to leave Phil, doesn’t like to think that he will.)

-

“I’m going out now,” Dan announces, coming into Phil’s room of his own accord. The curtains are drawn, have been all day, he knows - but it’s been raining all day, senile and saturnine, so that’s an excuse. 

“Hm?” Phil’s head lifts from the helical tangle of his limbs. He has settled into the creases of his covers, legs drawn up to his chest as his saccade unravels a novel. The double bed swamps his figure, limbs not reaching to both corners of checked blue. 

“I told you earlier, remember, me and Aidan are -”

“Yeah, I remember,” Phil cuts him off as his head lowers again, but his focus does not yet return to his book. It has been a while since Dan has seen Phil with a book, come to think of it: he’s always been on his laptop. When they were younger, it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to just read in each other’s presence. Those days are long gone now.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” Dan continues and takes a step forward - stops, then, hovering in the middle of the carpet. “Stop your mind worrying needlessly.”

“Right. Have fun, then,” Phil says, and the smile he offers is a thorn in Dan’s side, but Dan returns it and turns to leave.

“You’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, to the corner of the door frame and to the man coiled up like a boy behind him. 

“Fine.” The word stands as a chord for Dan to leave with. 

-

“Why don’t you hook Phil up with someone?” Aidan asks, casually spooning another forkful of food into his mouth. He meets Dan’s eyes again across the table and smiles cordially.

The restaurant has a rusted demeanor, with bulbs that only illuminate the room as far as the sphygmic tremor of shadows allows; their crepuscular beams bounce off Aidan’s spoon and over the curve of his mouth, and paint shadows under the eyes of the waiters and waitresses, smiles ersatz now that Dan feels a pounding in his head, a pulse in his fingertips and a dreading nausea in his viscera. The servers are clad in suave monochrome, the tables and chairs a dark wood. Everything has sunk into the shadow: romantic, it is called. The light reflects in a blinding strike into Dan’s eyes, and when he squints it makes everything look different, wrong.

Dan tries to swallow his meat as ribbons of colloquial murmurs feed his frenetic search for something else to focus on. 

_It’s not too bad, this isn’t how it’s ending, he’ll get it it’s fine you don’t need to you don’t need to - stop, calm down._

What was once passion-warm is now metal-cold.

Aidan takes Dan’s silence for vacillation, not shock at the proposal; says, “I know a girl -”

“It’s not for him,” Dan says at last and hopes that there is enough warning in his tone that this conversation will cut short.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aidan laughs, and now the fluting just jabs at Dan’s throat. His cutlery drops through the millimetres to the table with the song of clarion funeral bells. “Of course it is.”

“It’s not for him,” Dan repeats robotically, not daring to say anything else and damage everything. “He doesn’t want to date anyone.”

“Well, surely it’s a phase. He’ll meet The One soon enough.” Aidan shrugs and returns to his plate; the conversation is over in his eyes, and in his eyes he is right, of course he is. 

Dan’s teeth make a peculiar grating noise in his head as he grits them, while the throb in the pads of his fingers is even more tangible as his hands press down on the edge of the table.

Dan says one more thing before leaving.

-

Maybe he cries on the way home, but most of him knows that the bitter betrayal is outweighed by what is right. If this is what Aidan is like, then they would never have worked out. He knows that others laugh and smile and love. Aidan is not more important than them. In this situation, it was right to leave, because the safety and respect of his friend is more important than any number of kisses. 

The cold air stings at his eyes and bites at his damp, diamond cheeks - it feels like it is freezing them - but in his chest flowers, out of the dirt, a mellifluous pride and goodness, and he has Phil and he still has love and he has courage, even if the anger nips at his ankles. 

-

Dan knocks on the door instead of unlocking it himself, and when Phil opens it he gives a wet smile, but it is automatic and natural. 

“I thought you were busy?” Phil asks, staggers as Dan pulls him in for a relieved hug.

“Not if I can help it,” Dan replies, and as he edges past into their apartment, his eyes catch a glimpse of a stunned grin on Phil’s features.

They spend the night on the sofa again, sleep-addled body weight holding the other up and their laughs pressing together like twined fingers at every joke they share.

Dan might be gay, he might be bisexual, he might be anything, he doesn’t really know. But it doesn’t matter, and he watches the concern shatter away in strings of trenchant emerald.

Because this, this is all he needs, really.

-

**vii.**

The windows are flung wide open, the picket-white sash cutting deep into the night air, just so they can let it all flood in: moonlight, mist, beautiful, beautiful. Contrary to most, they only opened it once the sun went down. The moon is full and they just want to welcome it in, catch it in their tracheas and their bloated lungs. Everything feels light and airy, relaxed. Their backs are dug into the cushions, bodies serpentine as they just stare at the wall, out of the window.

Phil, with a glass of flat lemonade pressed between his palms, apropos of nothing, starts to speak.

“I know what aesthetic attraction is like. And sensual - that was a dark time.” Dan’s eyes spark with amusement and his neck twists, interest caught in his brain. “I know what arousal is - libido is natural, right? But it doesn’t amount to anything, not to any person.” It is one of those moments where Dan shuts up. “And I’ve got family love and platonic love and you. I mean, many would say we’re married, so I’ve got that sorted.” The odd socks that are most likely beneath the sofa and under Dan’s bed, the cracked kitchen tiles, and the wine bottles in the fridge all support this, and a grin is kissing at Dan’s cheeks. “So I’m not lonely.”

“No,” Dan agrees, and it slips off his tongue easily - everything about this is welcome and right.

“I love you in every way apart from wanting to stick my dick in you, if that’s okay.”

Dan’s laughing rapturously as yellow blooms and replaces the darkened green in his chest. This is all he needs, all he needs.

“Of course.”


End file.
